Tamer's Tale
by JunoMagic
Summary: A series of vignettes about the island of Himling, a wizard and a woman. Gandalf/OFC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J. R. R .Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters that belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the private enjoyment of readers at FanFictionNet, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

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**Dedication: **To Edoraslass. Thank you for the Challenge! And the Wookie love story!

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**1. Tamer's Tale**

This is a tale of the island of Himling, a wizard and a woman.

Have you heard of Himling, the island of Himling, in the Great Sea of Belegaer? Or the hill of Himring, the fortress of Maedhros in Beleriand, before the world was changed?

_No?_

Never mind. The names of Himring and Himling were lost to legends long ago, and then those legends were lost, too, or so it seems.

In the days of the Third Age of the world, the Himling was an island lost in the cold grey seas of Belegaer to the north-west of the green country of Forlindon.

A small island it was, barely twenty-five miles long and twenty miles wide. Twenty-five miles off the coasts of Lindon, it ducked in low green-grey hills under the force of harsh winds blowing down from the icy wastes of the North. Barely an island it seemed on some days, between low clouds and high seas, nothing but a thin line of hills and heather and coarse grasses. The hills were graced with thickets of broom and whitethorn and a few straggling pines gnarled and twisted by the onslaught of wind and weather. One hill a single standing stone reminded of ages long gone and forgotten. In the southern cove a few white and grey cottages of fishermen washed up on the beaches of Himling during the course of centuries could barely called a village.

That was Himling in the Third Age of the world.

That and a single cottage facing westwards built in a dell below that hill with the standing stone. The wizard's house.

It had always been the wizard's house and the women of a certain family had always served him as housekeepers. Wizards do not age and perhaps they have never been young. This one was grey of hair and white of beard, with sparkling dark eyes and bushy grey eyebrows. He did not come to Himling often; indeed one of his housekeepers might live and die without ever having seen her master. For wizards are travelling folk at heart, roaming the roads of Arda wherever their feet and their work may take them. But even those wandering wizards may need a home from time to time. So there was a wizard's home on Himling and a housekeeper to keep it clean and its garden well tended and her services never went unrewarded, for her garden would flourish even when all other crop on Himling failed and never a day the nets were empty that her husband would cast out into the sea.

One of the wizard's housekeepers was Tamer, later wife of Jehan.

This is her tale.

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**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all:_ If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing.

You can leave a public comment (signed or anonymous), send me a private message, visit my forums or mail me off-site: juno _underscore_ magic _at_ magic _dot_ ms

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Yours  
JunoMagic


	2. Chapter 2

**2. A Wizard's Housekeeper**

While her grandmother had never seen the wizard during her lifetime, he had come to Himling twice when Tamer was a child.

She remembered sitting on his knees and braiding his beard while he told her tales of dragons and small creatures he called 'Hobbits'. He returned ten years later, when she was almost a woman grown, a gawky girl of fourteen. He sailed into the harbour in his small grey boat on a clear autumn evening, a day of extraordinary fair weather and good winds. She recognized him at once, although his clothing, a shimmering grey cloak, silver scarf and blue hat, was foreign to her eyes, used to the home-spun dresses of Himling as she was. He remembered the long white beard and the bushy eyebrows. And when his dark eyes met hers, filled with a hidden fire, she felt as if he had never been gone.

She ran to tell her mother even as he stepped on shore. A fire had to burn brightly in the fire place when he reached his cottage and a hearty stew should be simmering on his hearth to welcome him to his home after so many years.

At that time Tamer's mother was already ailing. Tamer was the youngest of seven children, and the hard life on the island did not allow for an easy old age. So it was Tamer who ended up kindling the fire and putting the large pot on the hearth for the stew, and it was her who ended up staying in the small chamber off the kitchen to take care of the wizard's every day needs. Not that he had many needs that required her presence at all. Indeed, upon hearing about her mother being so poorly, he suggested that she stay with her mother and care for her and not for him. But being the housekeeper of the grey wizard was a matter of pride for her family. The keeping of his cottage and garden had been the mainstay of her family for generations. No small was the fear to lose his good-will, despite his gentleness in his dealings with his housekeepers. So there was no question about it between Tamer's mother and Tamer: Tamer would be the next housekeeper and she was plenty old enough to live up to that responsibility. Indeed, she better rise to the occasion splendidly. For her mother expected a daily report, and her father's belt was made of leather, broad and painful in its licks, should her efforts not be deemed satisfactory.

So Tamer donned a grown woman's garb of long dress, apron and proper kertch, packed her bundle and bid her family goodbye. Very straight she held herself, a tall thin girl almost painfully aware of her new status, trying to suppress her nervousness, trying to ignore the curious looks of neighbours and the chattering of the children. She was the wizard's housekeeper now and on her shoulder's rested the well-being of her family.

It was early evening when she reached the cottage.

The wizard sat on the bench in front of the house, smoking a long, curved pipe, leisurely blowing pipe rings into the soft lights of the evening.

She curtsied as prettily as she knew how, keeping her eyes as low as her mother had taught her to. "Good evening, master," she said, trying to keep to what her parents had taught her as the proper way of speaking, the clear clipped sounds of the mainland as opposed to the lilting singsong of their island voices. "I will cooking dinner in but a moment, just allow me to put my things in the chamber. Unless you need me at once for something?"

Aware of how nervous and rushed her words had come out, she felt her cheeks glowing with embarrassment and stared down at the tips of her scuffed shoes.

"Nay, Tamer," the wizard said, his voice scratchy in a way that sent a shiver down her spine, but friendly, relieving her of some of her worries. "Don't worry, my dear. I need a housekeeper, if that! Certainly not a slave! Get settled down and I'll be quite happy with whatever soup you can put on the table tonight."

"You're very kind, master," she mumbled, blushing even more. Then she hurried inside, feeling that she would never live up to the task of being a wizard's housekeeper.


	3. Chapter 3

**3. A Winter's Tale**

As it turned out, Tamer's mother had trained her well for her duties as a housekeeper. But the wizard was also a kind master to her, quite different from the old Merrsem to whom her friend Jehan was apprenticed to learn the art of boat-building. Merrsem was fond of the whisky and fonder of the strap, and poor Jehan was the one to suffer for it. Tamer's father called it "growing pains that are part and parcel of every apprenticeship". But Tamer for her part was glad that they were not a part of her apprenticeship. The wizard never failed to say a friendly word when she served him and the one time when the porridge was burnt, he flicked his fingers and winked at her and all the mess was gone. He seemed to appreciate her quiet ways and when she worked the garden of the cottage he sometimes told her a tale about the wide, wide world and she almost forgot that she was working at all.

When she served his breakfast on the third day after the wizard had arrived, she almost dropped the tea-pot in surprise, for when she looked at him she almost did not recognize him. The long white beard was gone, making him appear years younger than his venerable age had to be. In fact, as she gazed at his bright eyes, she thought it was hard to tell how old he was. His face showed the lines of a long life and wind and weather, yet there was something timeless and youthful to his face that had been completely hidden by the beard. In fact, she thought in a small, secret corner of her mind, he looked _beautiful_. However she never remembered anyone telling her of the wizard appearing without a beard. As she moved back and forth between table and hearth, she mused that growing a beard to the length of half a foot was probably nothing for one who could wield lightning and thunder. And certainly more comfortable than wielding a cut-throat-razor such as her father used, cutting himself evilly whenever the knife lost its edge.

But she did not mention anything about the beard or how beautiful she thought the wizard to be to anyone.

As autumn turned to winter, the wizard made no move to leave Himling again. When she gathered all her courage and asked him how long he intended to stay, he smiled at her, and replied in this scratch voice that was both velvet and steel, that he did not know yet. "Even wizards need holidays, now and again."

It was a rough winter, the winter between her fifteenth and her sixteenth year. Cold and long, with harsh winds and ice and snow from November to February. The pale sun was gone from the sky in the middle of the afternoon and only dared to creep back over the eastern hills of the shores of Lindon shortly before noon. But to Tamer this winter was the brightest she had ever known. Scooped up in the cottage, the wizard told many tales, as much she thought to amuse himself as to entertain his young housekeeper. Sad tales he had to tell, of forfeited love and doom, and great stories of light and valour, of Elves he told her and of dwarves and of the kings of men and the land that drowned in the Western Seas…

Sometimes, as she lay down at night, her mind was whirling with all the names of heroes and far away places. But her heart was lightened by the knowledge that there was a wide, wide world beyond that stretch of grey-blue water between the eastern coast of Himling and the western shores of Lindon.

Beyond the occasional smoke ring turning into a dragon or a tree to illustrate one of his stories, and of course the vanishing beard, she never witnessed any sorcery at all. Nevertheless, she did not doubt his power for a moment. There was a fire in his eyes that spoke of deep mysteries and dangerous knowledge, of many experiences in many ages under the sun. She was always aware of this. At times it made her a bit nervous, at other times it added a thrill to the routines of dark winter days, and sometimes it was a comfort against the woes of the world.

Thus, when her mother lay dying at the end of January, she turned to the wizard in desperation, begging for help.

The wizard's eyes turned dark and sad at the news and he agreed at once to accompany her to the small hut of her family to see her mother. It was long walk in the gathering darkness, with storm winds blowing flurries of snowflakes into their faces. Tamer was astonished to see that when they reached her home, the wizard's beard was back and longer than ever, covered in snow and ice crystals. But this was not the time or the place to remark upon this strange feat. She showed the wizard to her parents' bed where her mother lay wheezing with a wracking cough and high fever, a piece of blood spattered linen pressed to her mouth.

The wizard sat down at her side and took her bony hands in his. Tamer was frightened to see how the strong hands of her mother, hands that had held her during her first steps, hands that had held her father's in the midsummer dance, had planted so many flowers and gathered so many cabbages, such strong hands, such capable hands, were suddenly thin and brittle as bird's feet, claw-like and feeble.

It was then, that a veil seemed to lift from Tamer's eyes and for a moment she could see a world that lay beyond the vision of her every day world, and more, she could see paths that led beyond this world. It was a world of shadows, yet it seemed to be a truer vision to her heart than the world she knew. She looked at her mother and she saw that life was fleeing from her body that for her mother the only path led away from this world and into the darkness. Tamer shivered with fear at this strange sight and wanted to turn away, when she grew aware of the wizard's presence in this world beneath the world she knew. In this strange world of shadows and twilight and confusing paths of past, present and future, he was so bright that it almost hurt to behold him. But she could not turn her gaze away from him. Light he was, and beauty and strength and wisdom, and she saw that he could walk all the paths there were, past, present and future and indeed that one dark path that led beyond this world into the darkness.

Then, as suddenly as the veil had withdrawn from her world, it was back and Tamer looked upon the small shabby bedstead of her parents, with her mother clutching the hands of the wizard. "Aye, Hulda," the wizard murmured. "Tis time. Go and rest, my dear. Your life has been long and full and good. Now it's time to rest."

He reached out and stroked her forehead. Tamer's mother smiled at him and closed her eyes, shuddering with a last painful breath.

The wizard bid Tamer stay with her family in this time of grief. But Tamer would not hear of it. Now that her mother was dead, her apprenticeship was over. Now she was the housekeeper of the wizard, not girl or daughter any longer. But she did not speak of her vision of the world that lay beneath and beyond reality all during many evenings of winter's tales.

On the first day of spring the wizard, again dressed with beard, blue hat, silver scarf and grey cloak, a long staff in his hand left the cottage and Tamer. His holiday was over, his stay in Himling at an end. He did not say where he would go or when he would return. He was a wizard, after all.

But when he would return, Tamer would be there, with a fire in the fire place of the cottage, a pot of stew on the hearth, and she would welcome him home. And if it was not Tamer, than it would be her daughter, or her granddaughter, or her great-granddaughter, because the youngest daughters of her family had always been the housekeepers of the Grey Wizard.


	4. Chapter 4

**4. Dreams**

As her mother had done before she had married her father, Tamer stayed in her chamber behind the kitchen in the wizard's cottage. She was the wizard's housekeeper. This was her place until she married.

Her days were busy. The cottage had to be kept immaculate. So she dusted the many books in the good room, wiped and waxed the wooden floors until they shone and polished the copper pots and pans hanging from the hooks at the kitchen wall until they were bright as mirrors. Under her ministrations the roses formed a bright red gate at the entrance to garden and cottage and the cabbages and potatoes flourished in the sheltered garden.

But the summer went by and the wizard did not return. Cabbages, potatoes and the apples from the lonely apple tree kept her father and her siblings fed and the rooms of the cottage silent and well-aired, with the last remnants of pipe-smoke drifted away on the summer breeze.

Autumn, winter, spring and summer again.

Year after year went by, but the wizard did not return.

One fine summer's Master Merrsem suffered from an unfortunate accident, reeling drunkenly into the harbour basin and drowning to his death ere he could be retrieved. Jehan inherited his business, having learned the craft of boat building and boat repairing as best as Master Merrsem had been able to teach him. Which was not much, to be sure; but his innate talent for working with wood and water soon earned Jehan the reputation to be the best boat-builder Himling had ever had – or at least as long as anyone presently alive on Himling could remember.

Tamer was twenty-one years old that summer and although it was not said aloud, Tamer was aware that the people of the village expected him to woo and wed her ere the year was over. They had been childhood sweethearts, after all, or what counted as that on isolated Himling. She was of an age where a woman should be married. He would soon need a son to help him in his craft. It was time for nature to run its course.

But Tamer felt strangely reluctant to accept Jehan's suit.

She enjoyed her life in the wizard's cottage. The presence of scrolls and books in the good room reminded her of the wide, wide world beyond the sea, beyond the shores of Lindon and the blue shadows of the Ered Luin. Working the garden in silence, only sometimes humming one of the songs the wizard had taught her during that long winter when her mother had died, she was happy in her lonesomeness. As is the normal course of such things, she had lost her sight with the onset of her womanhood. But although the veil obscuring that other world and all its paths never lifted for her again, she felt comforted by the knowledge of its existence. On lonely evenings sitting in front of the cottage, gazing over rows of beanstalks and orderly beds of cabbages and potatoes towards the West, she was almost painfully aware of this other world, of things to know and power to do… and her dreams took the wings of the white bird of legend and flew over the Sundering Seas, imagining white shores and fair faces…

She knew it was selfish, but she was not quite ready to give up on these elusive dreams and imaginings yet. In some dreams she still heard a scratchy voice that was warm and soft like velvet, yet strong and dangerous as a sword, and when she woke from such dreams on a moonlit night, she felt the desire to hear that voice again and that desire was fierier than any longing to feel dear Jehan's lips on her mouth.

So it came about that year by year went by and ten years to the day of the wizard's last sojourn in Himling had passed and Tamer, the wizard's housekeeper, was not married, not a mother, and still living alone in that chamber behind the kitchen in the wizard's cottage.

It was an autumn day, cool and crisp; the winds had been blowing hard, the waves unruly for the last week. But suddenly seas calmed down, and a fresh wind began blowing from the East. A few hours later, the look-out from the small lighthouse reported that a small vessel was approaching, a small grey sailing boat.

Tamer's heart was racing as she bid Jehan good-bye, who had made her a new wooden bucket, filling it with flowers for her to make her smile. She hastened back to the cottage. She did not need to be told who was in that boat. She knew it in her heart. He would appear to be a very old man, with a blue hat and a silver scarf. With fiery dark eyes, and a long white beard that could be braided by a small girl and vanish when it was convenient.

The wizard had returned.

Jehan's eyes followed her swiftly disappearing form, his face sweetly sad. He loved her dearly, but he knew that he would never hold the first place in her heart. No matter what he might dream of, she was the wizard's housekeeper first, and always would be.


	5. Chapter 5

**5. Faithful**

She heard his steps in front of the door and hurried to open the door for him, dropping into a deep curtsy to greet the wizard with the respect that was his due.

"Welcome, master," she said, her voice husky. Then she raised her head and looked at him. He had not changed at all.

Staff in his right, hat in his left hand the wizard stood in the doorway and calmly looked at his housekeeper. His hair was windblown where the hat had not kept it down and the long silky white beard was tousled. His eyes shone with the same dark fire she remembered. The lines in his face spoke of many lonely and dangerous miles walked in twilight and darkness.

"But you have changed," he said.

She knew that he saw all of her years and all of her dreams then, and she knew from the way he narrowed his eyes that some of the things he saw, he did not approve of, and some things he saw seemed to sadden him. But she did not lower her gaze, feeling suddenly rebellious and defiant, an emotion that was astonishing and surprising and very unlike the Tamer she knew, the woman she had grown up to be.

"I am a woman now," she replied.

"Yes, you are," he agreed. "It's good to be home."

She smiled then, a tentative smile. Things had changed between them, and she knew not why.

"The stew is already simmering," she said. "The first potatoes are ripe; and they are very good this year."

"About the only thing that is good this year," he sighed. He leaned his staff into the corner behind the door and softly closed the door. She grew aware that his shoulders slumped as if he was bearing a heavy weight upon them. She hurried to take his cloak and hat from him, suddenly worried.

His cloak smelled of the sea and smoky, of pipe-weed and camp-fire. She noticed a long slash in the cloak, carefully mended, but blackened at the edges – of blood or fire? She could not tell. As she turned cloak and hat on the hooks at the door, her fingers trembling slightly, she suddenly felt the comforting touch of a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry, Tamer," the wizard gave her a small smile. "Wizards _always _carry the weight of the world on their shoulders; that is what they are wizards for."

She nodded, but in her heart she felt a strange fear and for once she was glad that she had not become one of the seeing-women, but had lost that ability when she had turned a woman. What darkness threatened in the East, beyond the sea?

She shuddered. There were some things she did not want to know.

The wizard ate in silence that night, his thoughts still dwelling on the greener shores of Lindon or farther away, on ways and worries she could not fathom. He went to bed early.

It was strange to clean the kitchen that night, knowing that she was not alone in the house. As she moved from cupboard to table to the sink where she washed the dishes she was curiously aware of the fact that in the bedroom above the kitchen the wizard slept again. Even as she carefully put the plates away, he would be lying in the broad bed of wood dark with age and polish, on a mattress stuffed with fresh straw and herbs, covered with clean linen, his pillow and blankets smelling of lavender and rosemary, the southern herbs carefully nurtured in the wizard's spell-protected garden.

How long would he stay this time?

When he appeared in the morning, she almost expected his beard to have vanished, the same way it had done ten years ago. But it was still there, if not quite as unruly as when had arrived last night. As if he read her mind, he raised a bushy eyebrow at her, silently chastising her.

She felt her cheeks flush with shame and served him without another word.

She remembered Jehan's sad look, her father's silent reproach when her next oldest brother had married a year ago and she had only shrugged at the question when she might settle down with a handsome lad.

Suddenly she wondered why ever she had waited so long.

She worked in the garden that day. It was another fair day, unusually warm for an autumn day on Himling. She felt good, as she moved through the garden, harvesting the riches a good summer had left behind. She enjoyed even the feeling of sweat trickling down her spine, when she began turning up the earth of the potato bed. The earth was rich and humid, no doubt the best earth on all of Himling. She hummed as she worked, one of the elvish songs she remembered from Gandalf's last stay in Himling.

She never saw him stepping up behind her, nor did she hear him approach. But she smelled him before he spoke, the smoky scent of pipe-weed, and something spicy, a more intimate fragrance.

"So you remember the songs I sang for you," he said in that husky voice she remembered so well. "Even after ten years."

She straightened up and found that the work in the garden had calmed her heart, as it always did. She looked at the wizard. "Yes," she replied, her voice firm. "I think I will remember them for as long as I shall live."

"Faithful," he said. "But why do you want to be faithful to me? Why not to Jehan, who is waiting for you down in the village, working day and night?"

She pondered his question, as she had indeed pondered it for many years now, without coming to any conclusion that would appease her father or console Jehan. "I don't know. My heart tells me it is so. Don't you know about the voice of the heart?"

He regarded her in silence for a long moment. The fire in his eyes paled to smouldering embers. "I do know about that; never doubt that Tamer."

Suddenly he raised his eyes to the western horizon. "But sometimes I do doubt the ways of the Valar, Eru may forgive me."

For a moment she had the impression that he wanted to touch her shoulder in a gesture of comfort, but then he turned away wordlessly and went to sit on the bench to smoke his evening pipe, just as he had done ten years ago.

**oooOooo**

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**Please feel free to leave a comment!**

_Anything at all:_ If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing.

You can leave a public comment (signed or anonymous), send me a private message, visit my forums or mail me off-site: juno _underscore_ magic _at_ magic _dot_ ms

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Yours  
JunoMagic


	6. Chapter 6

**6. Master**

The next morning, the beard was gone.

She acted as if she did not notice. He grinned but did not comment.

What had changed?

As she moved about in the kitchen, she felt her heart beating heavily in her breast. She was aware of his presence as she had never been aware of another person before. Not even at the midsummer dance, when Jehan had swirled her round and round and held her pressed tightly against him, his pupils so wide, his smile so sweet.

She watched the wizard out of the corners of her eyes.

He was _old._ No, he was not. Though his face _was_ lined like that of her father and the old men of the village, there was a youthful tension to his skin. It occurred to her that the lines in his face engraved in his face seemed to be due more to care, wisdom and worry than old age. He was timeless. Yet he was ancient. Without the beard she could see that he was tired and troubled by many thoughts. His long hair was silver; the beard had been more white than silver. To be honest she had to admit that Jehan was fairer of face and stronger in build.

Yet there was something that drew her to the wizard. Something she could not resist. Whatever it was, it had kept her waiting and wondering for almost ten years.

She felt the weight of his gaze on her body. Suddenly she wondered what forces were playing with them. For surely it was not natural for her to desire a wizard… to want to hear that voice whispering in her ears, velvet and steal. To imagine the touch of silver hair on her naked skin. She was to keep his house clean; she was to keep the garden well-tended. It was not her place to notice that his hands were beautiful.

A wizard had no woman.  
_"A wizard's wife is a widow".  
"Wizards and wanderers are woe to a woman."_

She knew those sayings. Everyone knew tales of wizards. A legend of Himling held it that they had come out of the West ages ago. The grey wizard was said to have arrived in Himling on the wings of a giant eagle. _Wizards and wanderers…_ No ties they would have, no allegiance they would swear, to no place they would abide until their task was complete. Whatever that task was. Then they would return beyond the sea.

So why was she drawn to the wizard like that?  
And why did he remain where he was, looking at her with that calm, almost palpable gaze?

Finally he rose from the table. "I will go and read for a while."

"Yes, master," she replied softly, her breath catching in her throat.

"Master?" His eyebrows rose to dangerous heights.

She inhaled shakily. Then she carefully, slowly, put the tea pot she was holding on the table. For a moment she looked at her hands. Slender hands, long fingers, curled around the tea pot. An old tea pot. Blue and white porcelain, stained from the hearth-fire on the bottom, stained from countless brews of tea on the inside. She knew she had waited for the wizard to return for ten long years. She could not deny that. Was it choice or destiny? Did that make a difference? She found that she did not care. She raised her eyes slowly. She did not know about the fire in her gaze, a deep blue fire, like the southern sea or a brilliant sapphire.

She only knew that he could not evade her gaze.

"Yes," she repeated. "Master."

_Master of my fate. Master of uncounted fates, if the legends are true._

It was he who broke eye-contact then, he, who rose quickly, leaving soft-footed for the good room, to spend the day reading as he had said he would.

_She_ spent the day in the kitchen and in the garden. There were berries to gather and preserves to cook. She kept humming as she waited for the night to fall. Acceptance had calmed her heart, but not her desire.


	7. Chapter 7

**7. Anger**

The weather turned. Storm winds blew away the last lingering blossoms of the roses and tore the kites from the hands of playing children.

The garden was tended for the coming winter, but there was still work to do in the kitchen, to dry herbs and fruits, deal with cucumbers and cabbages. Later there would be wool to spin and blankets and socks to mend, as the days grew shorter.

The wizard seemed to ignore her. He spent his days in the good room, reading and writing, or walking the island of Himling, talking to sheep and shepherds alike, visiting the fishermen. He listened to the old men's tales, and stroked the planks of their boats in reverence, played seemingly absent-minded with the nets hung out to dry and bid them farewell as courteously as any lord. And when he left, she was sure he left something behind: whispered words of good fortune, fair winds and plentiful fish.

But he did not speak to her, beyond wishing her a good morning and bidding her good night, thanking her for a meal, or similar innocuous phrases.

Sometimes she did not reply, but only looked at him, daring him to look at her, Tamer the woman, not Tamer the girl, not Tamer the housekeeper. Sometimes an angry spark leapt up in his dark eyes then. Sometimes he turned and left the room. And sometimes it seemed to her as if a veil lifted from his eyes, to reveal lonely and longing.

As the weeks went by, anger began to rise in her.

She knew that he would leave again in spring. She knew as surely as the stone of Himring was straight that he would never return in her lifetime. She knew that she would marry Jehan ere the next midsummer dance would be called. She did not need a gift of seeing, to see the lines of her life spread out before her. Tamer, the Boatwright's wife, Tamer, the wizard's housekeeper, Tamer, the mother: Tamer's paths from the hill of Himring down to the fishing village of Himling and back, days of helping in the craft shop, tending the garden, cooking meals, spinning and weaving and mending. Children, there would be, kittens and sheep, hens to chase and eggs to find. Steps that would follow a well-trodden path, a path taken by her mother, by her mother's mother, and oh so many women before that.

She was not bitter about that. She did not rebel against the fate she could foresee for herself.

This was the way life was for a woman on the island of Himling.

But there was a fire beginning to burn in her heart.

A fire.  
_Desire!_

Desire to hear a voice of steel and silk murmur into her ear: not tales of dragons, elves and hobbits, but her name, Tamer, Tamer, Tamer!

Desire to feel hands on her body that wielded sword and staff: caressing her, Tamer, Tamer, Tamer!

Desire to be for a time not the woman of Himling, the wizard's housekeeper, the would-be wife and mother, but Tamer, Tamer, and only Tamer!

To know herself and see that knowledge reflected in _his _eyes: that she _was_!  
And that she was Tamer!

But he would not look at her, although she felt the weight of his gaze on her countless times a day. The simmering anger and burning desire that made her eyes blaze like sapphires and kept her awake night after night were coming to a boil at last.

When he thanked her politely for the evening meal and would not meet her eyes, but turned again for the good room and the books and the silence, she ran after him.

What possessed her she could not say, but she reached for his arm in the doorway, stopping him, forcing him to turn around and look at her.

His eyes were smouldering coals that would have made anyone but the most foolhardy man back down and take a step back. But she was not a man. She was a woman in love and her eyes flashed like blue lightning – and she did not draw back.

"You look at me," she said. "I can feel your gaze on my body. Yet you don't talk to me. Yet you turn away. Why? Is the woman of Himling, the housekeeper, the drudge, is Tamer not good enough to look her in the eye?"

"You don't know what you are asking!" His voice was cold and sharp as a blade.

"A wizard has no wife," she said. "I know that. _A wizard's wife is a widow._ I know that."

"You," he hissed, "you have no idea what you are talking about!"

He inhaled sharply and wanted to turn away once more. But again she held onto him and did not let him go.

"Then tell me," she demanded. "Or am I not deserving of an answer?"

"You don't know who I am," he said. His eyes were on fire, his hands hovering, as if he wanted to shake her, but he did not dare to touch her. "You don't know _what _I am!"

She met his gaze squarely. Her voice was firm when she retorted, "I am nothing. I know that. I mean nothing to the world, will change no destiny. Yet I am. I am Tamer. Are you never lonely?"

Seven heavy heartbeats he was silent. She held his gaze and as she looked into the fiery depths of his dark eyes, their blaze diminished leaving behind eyes that were almost human, dark, tired and sad, and indeed lonely.

"Then why not?" She asked.

But he only shook his head and turned away. This time, she let him pass.


	8. Chapter 8

**8. Midwinter Fortunes**

They had gathered in the house of the village chief for the midwinter festivities.

They: a handful of fishers, craftsmen, shepherds, their wives and children. Men who were as gnarled and bent by weather and wind as the pines clinging to the hills of Himling, women with eyes that were so tired no smile was left to them, labouring from before sunrise to well after sunset, day after day, year after year. The careless, bright years of childhood were over almost before they had begun and between mending nets and taking care of the sheep and goats, time for laughter and play was scarce.

It was a harsh life, on the island of Himling, that little bit of hill and heather, forgotten between the sky and the sea, when the world was changed.

Midwinter festivities: a scrawny wether that was not deemed good enough to stud, roasted on a spit, a pot of salted fish with the last potatoes and cabbage, a pudding for the silver penny that had never seen saffron or rice, or indeed a silver penny. The music a fiddle, a lap harp and a bag pipe, with windblown voices to rough to carry a tune. Stories of long forgotten days and far away places – but everything was far away from Himling, and Himling itself was longer forgotten than most of the stories told around the fireplace that night.

The wizard was there, of course. A guest of honour, though they did not like him. He was the one to keep away the storm floods from their harbour and the blight from their fields. Honour and awe were his due. Yet they feared him, too. Sailing to trade their fish and their warmest and finest wool off at Harl, the men had returned with darkening rumours to Himling last autumn and it seemed to them that he had returned to Himling flying at the edge of a storm, a grey storm crow bearing portents of doom, though he would not speak of his travels or give any news. He would not bring darkness and danger to them; he was their wizard, after all, and wasn't he sworn to protect them? And surely, forgotten by the world at large as they were, darkness and danger would forget them, too? Yet they were afraid; and thus did not like their wizard, though they honoured him.

Tamer was there, too. Anger was in her heart again, but this time not stirred by the wizard, but felt for the wizard, as she watched how they treated him. Polite they were, to be sure. They gave him his due, to be sure. But she could see the invisible wall with which they surrounded him, a wall of suspicion, a wall built of unspoken words: _you are the stranger, you have walked darkness and danger, do you dare bring them to us, darkness and danger, wizard?_

She glared at Amloth when the smith's wife went to serve the wizard.

_Don't dare not to smile at him,_ her glowering gaze told the squat woman in no uncertain terms. _Don't you dare not to greet him kindly as you set the bowl on the table in front of him. _

Amloth, schooled to meekness by a lifetime of fists and flares of temper meted out to her by her husband, whispered friendly words and even laughed softly at the wizard's gentle reply.

Tamer leaned back in her corner, satisfied. But the wizard met her eyes with a sad knowing look. _Let them be sullen_, he seemed to say, _let them be…_

She lowered her head. _It was not the housekeeper's place to stand up for her master_.

There would be others in high places who had treated him with disdain and suspicion, yet he served them, too. Unfailing in his loyalty, unswerving in his courage.

She raised her head again and met his eyes. She felt tears rise to her eyes, as she asked her silent question, _why may I not be loyal to you? And who will give me courage?_

But the answer in his eyes was the same it had always been since he had come to know her heart's desire. _No. No._

Then it was time for the fortune telling. The wizard's calling and duty: he swirled around tea leaves and dregs of coffee, scattered runes and knuckle bones, traced lines in palms with skin like leather to read a gentle spring and warm weather, to tell of a healthy child and three lambs this year; to give advice: replace that boat or a storm will claim you. You will marry and be with child ere the next midwinter feast.

She closed her eyes and listened to his voice, a caress he could not deny her. A sound so rough and gentle, a touch so tender she could almost feel his fingers stroking along her ear and down her neck. She wondered at this fortune telling. What fortunes could you tell on Himling? Anyone could see that Medui would marry and be pregnant ere the next year was out – she was sixteen and Odo the shepherd had declared his undying love for her. What would a gentle spring and a warm summer be to old Tolga, who was wheezing with a wasting sickness? She could hear in his voice that he had indeed seen the storm that would claim Glawo's life. But would the new boat save his life?

"And now Tamer, my lord!"  
"Yes, you have to tell Tamer her fortune!"  
"Yes, tell her to marry Jehan, he'll thank you for it!"

Her eyes flew open and she did not even have a chance to glare and spit at those towing her to her feet and pushing her forward, seating her on the stool before the wizard, and Amloth took her palm and turned around for the wizard to read and tell her to marry, marry Jehan, who watched her with his calm-sad gaze from across the room. But Amloth was happy with the warm wine flushing her face, her husband nodding approvingly, and she did not notice Tamer's reluctance or the way the wizard had drawn back.

Her heart was in her mouth as she felt the wizard's hand under hers.

She would be grateful to poor Amloth forever.

He would tell her to marry Jehan and she would. She would be the boatwright's wife, the wizard's housekeeper, mother and grandmother and Tamer no more. But she would have this one touch, this one touch for Tamer, and Tamer alone.

He did not need to ask which was the hand she used more in her every day life. He knew.

_How curious to see him in his bearded disguise again_, she thought. _But it distracted neatly from the fire in his eyes and the timelessness to his brow. A trick, but an efficient trick._

He began to stroke her palm with his index finger, tracing and retracing lines that were still soft with youth, not yet engraved, still changeable, and not yet fated. Each touch sent fire through her veins and shivers down her spine.

"What do you see?"  
"Will Jehan be a happy man?"  
"Let's hear it!"  
"What do you see?"

Suddenly she felt him hesitate.  
She felt him search for words.

She raised her head and stared, felt her mouth open in a soft sound of surprise, but his look stopped her. Shock? Surprise? Painful acceptance? _Desire?_

"She'll marry Jehan on midsummer's eve," the wizard said. "And her daughter will be born before the year is out."

This got the men laughing and hooting, shouting good-natured obscenities, thumping Jehan on the back in praise of his manliness – and Jehan smiled at her and the wizard, a wide, hopeful smile that cut to her heart.

But the wizard did not smile.

They walked home in silence after the feast, in bitter winds and clouds of snow. The wizard's house was warm and dark, the embers of a well-banked fire still aglow. She hung their cloaks up to dry and locked the door for the night.

Then she turned to the wizard.

Her heart was beating heavily, she felt almost liquid inside, light headed with amazement and apprehension.

He stood with his back to her, looking up the narrow stairs to the small room under the roof where he slept. She could hear him sigh, a deep, husky sigh. When he turned, his beard was gone again, the timelessness of his face obscured by conflicting emotions she could not even begin to understand.

She swallowed hard.

"You did not see Jehan's child," she said finally.

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he slowly shook his head.

"No," he answered. "I did not see Jehan's child."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Warning! **Mature content in this chapter.

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**oooOooo**

**9. A Man and a Woman**

She raised her hand and gazed at it in wonder. "I only see my hand, when I look at it. Just a hand! Thumb, fingers, the wound from burning myself last week, when I snatched the pot from the fire just in time."

He caught her hand and held it. "You forget that I am the wizard. There are many things I see, things that were, things that are and things that _will_ be."

"Are you not the master of your own fate?" She had thought he must be, he at least, must be free to do as he would.

"_Ahhh…_" The sigh held a hint of laughter. "Master of my fate! Maybe! But what of the fates of countless others? What of them?"

"But what about you? Are you not one of them, too?" That anger she had felt _for_ him flared anew.

"I am many things," he replied. Then he stepped closer to her, drawing her against him by pressing her hand against his heart. "Many things, Tamer. I have been many things. But I shall also become a man. Come now; let words and fortunes rest and gift me your lips and your hands and your body."

She swayed against him and offered him his lips. His hands reached for her hips and pulled her ever closer to his body. His mouth met hers in deep sigh.

**oooOooo**

When he felt the heated silk of her lips part willingly for him, he felt the fates turn.

As feelings such as he had never known overwhelmed him, he was not wizard anymore, not servant, not master, but _man_.

He led her up the stairs and into that room under the roof of the cottage. He undressed her, he shed his robes. He would not have known what to do as a wizard; for once he would have been lost, despite all his lore and all his power.

But as a _man_ he knew. His hands knew how to cup her breasts, his lips knew how to trace kisses from her throat to her deepest places, his tongue knew how to spark her desire, his arms knew how to hold her and his body knew how to take her.

His release was so powerful that had he not worn his human form, it would have utterly destroyed the island of Himling, foundering the last remains of Maedhros' fortress in a blinding explosion of that Flame that sparked the first life of Arda and that sparked life still.

She screamed and writhed against him, all but consumed.

When they lay in each other's arms, spent, clinging to each other in exhausted tenderness, fortunes had changed.

Power had been lost.

Life had been given.

Many roads lead to the future. Even if the final outcome remains uncertain, where life is, there is always hope.

**oooOooo**

"Why are you crying?" She asked and trailed her fingertips down his cheeks. In spite of some initial pain she had not cried.

He pressed her naked body against him and inhaled the warm scent of sated desire, the musky fragrance of semen, the tart mingling of their sweat.

"I have lost my form to you," he replied calmly. "I will never again be what I was and how I was made; now I will always be wizard and always be man. But I am glad of it: glad! That is the reason for my tears."

"Then let me make you gladder still," she whispered and moved astride him.

He laughed; a deep, husky laugh, velvet and steel, the laugh of a man who loves a woman – and reached for her once more.

**oooOooo**

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**A/N: **In Tolkien's essay _"Osanwe kenta"_ the problem of Ainu and the way they are bound to a certain _hröa_; it seems that although Eru did not forbid the Ainu (including the Maiar) to use their body to eat/drink/have sex, all those activities bind the _feä _to that particular _hröa_ – and most of all, the begetting of a child. This is at what I am playing here. Gandalf's sacrifice for the future is his true form.

Within the boundaries of my AU this is what makes Gandalf more vulnerable to the Balrog in Moria, but makes him also understand love, what Saruman could not. This is also the reason why Gandalf appears as the old man and wizard to Nihil in my story "The Tides of Time and the Bones of the Earth".


	10. Chapter 10

**10. A Tale of Himling**

The winter passed and spring returned to the island of Himling, with blue skies and shy blooms nodding in the brisk breeze.

The wizard left the island, sailed back to the green shores of Forlindon and never returned.

Tamer married Jehan and only a three months later she bore him a daughter, a pretty little baby girl with the piercing grey eyes.

But Tamer did not keep up the tradition of her family, being the wizard's housekeeper and tending the wizard's cottage and its garden. Indeed, after he left, she never walked up the hill of Himring again as long as she lived.

Many storms and many winters later, nothing remains of that white cottage looking towards the western horizon and across the Sundering Seas. But if you walk up to the standing stone of Himring, you will find a sheltered dell on the western side of the hill that is filled with blooming red roses.

And if you go down to the harbour and listen to the tales the fishermen tell, as they sit on the quay and mend their nets, you may hear a tale of a woman who once loved a wizard. And if they notice that you are interested in their quaint stories about wizards and fortune telling and such, they might send you to the boatwright, for it is said that the youngest daughter of the boatwright of Himling can see beyond the boundaries of the presence and beyond the tides of time.

But if those tales are true, I do not know.

They might only be that:

fishermen's tales, tales of the island of Himling, about a wizard and a woman, and maybe, of love.

**oooOooo**

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**The End**

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**oooOooo**

**A/N: **I hope you have enjoyed this little exploration of what Gandalf might have done when he was not running around fighting black riders and saving the world. (grin)

An illustrated version of this story can be found on my LiveJournal, juno(_underscore_)magic, tagged as "short stories".

**oooOooo**

**********************************************************Feel free to leave a comment! **

_Anything at all:_ If you noticed a typo, if you don't like a characterization or description, if you thought a line especially funny, if there was anything you particularly enjoyed … I am really interested in what my readers think about my writing. Comments, concrit, congratulations (wink!) are always welcome.

You can leave a public comment (signed or anonymous), send me a private message, visit my forums or mail me off-site: juno _underscore_ magic _at_ magic _dot_ ms

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this story.

Yours  
JunoMagic


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